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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29213868">Kishi Kaisei</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/knifeeyes/pseuds/knifeeyes'>knifeeyes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Trauma, wowow this is kinda a dark fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:41:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,765</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29213868</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/knifeeyes/pseuds/knifeeyes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i><b>起死回生 (kishi kaisei) Literally: </b>Wake from death and return to life. <b>Meaning:</b> To come out of a desperate situation and make a complete return in one sudden burst.</i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Johnny Silverhand/Female V, Johnny Silverhand/V</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Kishi Kaisei</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Not beta'd, any and all mistakes are my own.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When we think about time, we sometimes tend to look at it as a continuous motion, a perpetual shifting of sands, of currents that ebb and flow constantly and organically as if they were unable to do anything else. It's so organic that we hardly recognize it passing at all, so quiescent it is in the backgrounds of our lives. And it is only until something so momentous, so significant happens, that we forget the cyclical nature of time and allow it to sever itself; consciously divide it into halves that are the <em> before </em> and the <em> after. </em>We allow our perception of our time on Earth to be defined by an event so large that it literally splits our lives, what came before and what comes after, so severely that we begin to lose track of how we ever lived prior to the paradigm shift, the fiery crash, a dividing so severe that our memories begin to fail us and we only know what we currently exist as. </p><p> </p><p>Darkness and light, earth beneath our feet and sky hanging above our heads, life and death. Two halves of a whole, combined once again where time feels right once more. It is only after Konpeki Plaza that V begins to look at her life as two halves of a whole existence; not life and death, but <em> before him, </em> and <em> after him.  </em></p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Consciousness comes back to her slowly, darkness swimming behind her eyelids as she realizes she is in fact alive, and relatively whole. She can feel something warm and sticky coating her hands as instinct kicks in and she blindly tries to grasp for her pistol, her knife, for <em> anything </em>, yet her arms barely move from where they lay stiffly at her sides. Disorientation suddenly hits her like a freight train, her head screaming at her from where she lay with her eyes still clamped shut, on the filthy tiled floor. All she knows is that she is alive, and very cold. She sighs into the silent room. Fear, for the first time in a long time begins to course through her veins, icy and sharp as it flows into her heart, which threatens to beat its way out of her chest as she scrambles again to open her eyes and sit up, wet palms making her palms slip out from under her, and she crashes painfully back to the floor. </p><p> </p><p>Momentarily stunned, she lays there, trying to wipe some of the substance, most likely someone else’s blood, off onto her pants, and only managed to get some of it to transfer from her hands to her jeans. Wiping the gore off as best she could, she takes a shaky breath in and tries to finally crack open an eye. Her vision was blurry enough to force her to open the other one and immediately, the room spins, unfocused and dim as nausea surges and she tries not to throw up. She can’t bring herself to lift her aching head from where it’s pressed painfully to the cold tile, only her arms cooperating as she tried once again to reach for where her pistol normally sat, tucked in the waistband of her jeans. She wasn’t surprised to find it missing, wasn’t entirely surprised at all to find every one of her weapons gone, her soaked palm once again meeting cold skin and the rough rasp of her denim, torn to pieces against her thighs. Groaning, she made another attempt to sit up, to lift her face off the tiles and this time succeeded. She immediately regretted her decision, the initial wave of nausea finally coming up and doubling her over forcefully, forward this time as she retched between her legs. Nothing coming up but bile that stung at her throat, she was immediately reminded of the first angry cigarette Johnny made her smoke as her coughs echoed across the empty room. </p><p> </p><p>The room itself was dimly lit and empty save for her, a single fluorescent bulb hanging above her head that cast a pallid, sickly pale glow over the room that made her skin look translucent and dead. She was still on the ground, laying next to a bathtub and a toilet and nothing much else. To say the room was filthy was an understatement. Blood was caked on almost every surface, piles of what looked like old implant parts, torn screamsheets and god knows what else sat in the corners, an unknown substance spilling over the sink, forming an ominous puddle that seeped its way through the grout of the tile. Peering through squinted eyes, she appraised the bathtub and was momentarily pleased to see that it contained no human ‘ganic body parts, only what looked like an old cybernetic arm, forcefully removed from some unlucky soul, and some old food wrappers. The smell of the room made her gag again. Something about the room seemed familiar to her, the smell maybe? The layout? Something she couldn’t place with her head spinning so violently and her freezing bones smashed against the tile floor, she couldn’t seem to catch a thought long enough to be able to analyze it properly. Finally able to sit up for a moment without retching, she tried, and failed, to slow her heart rate down and catch her breath now that the room had stopped spinning so forcefully and she no longer wanted to vomit her organs out. </p><p> </p><p>It was then that she noticed Johnny, who must have popped into existence while she was hacking her lungs out, sitting on the closed toilet seat in front of her, elbows resting on his knees. He watched her, silently for a moment, watched as she blinked herself back to full consciousness and turned to face him properly, eyes trying to focus on him and failing. He stared at her, took her prone form in in its entirety, before speaking before she could manage to get a word out.</p><p> </p><p>“Just like me, isn’t it? Getting trapped in the brain of Night City’s dumbest merc…”</p><p> </p><p>Her head reeled at the volume of his voice as it echoed in her skull, and she winced at him from her position still half sprawled out pathetically on the floor. He was sharp, always angular and rough, and she wasn’t sure why she’d expected him to be anything but that, even now. Part of his charm, she supposed.</p><p> </p><p>“Wha-what...happened?” she managed to croak out through dry lips and a tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and Johnny shook his head at her. She couldn’t see his eyes from behind the sunglasses, and she suddenly isn’t sure where to look, isn’t sure what expression he’s making at her or why he’s looking at her like that. He peers at her a moment longer, before finally replying in a monotone.</p><p> </p><p>“Look around and connect the dots...brilliant decision on your part there, V.” He replies contemptuously, and she’s immediately flooded with partial memories, snippets of recollection crossing her mind as she pulls herself up to sit properly. Dropping her head in her palms, she remembers.</p><p> </p><p>That fucking gonk on the corner of the market, the preem BD he promised, and she can see his wreath resting on the table of the room he made her enter after taking a disgusting amount of her eddies and disappearing into the dark alley. Shame fills her up faster than her earlier panic did, raw and hot embarrassment creeping up her spine and she turns away from him, looks at the dark puddle on the floor beside her instead, as if it’d provide an excuse he’d buy for why she was so stupid. She can feel her cheeks heating up as the memory of what happened, what she fucking let happen to them, played out in her head on repeat. She can feel Johnny’s anger swelling inside him now too, feel how his disappointment licks at her memory and bleeds into her own emotions, which honestly doesn’t make her feel any better at all.</p><p><br/>
She knows he can see her own shame, he must be feeling it too, and yet the flood of anger that violently and so suddenly crashes against her brain overpowers her own emotions. He is <em>furious,</em> and it scares her thoughts silent for a blissful moment until the reality of their situation sets in. This was the second time since she’d woken up with him in her brain that she’d actually felt his emotions this strong, only when they met Rogue for the first time was she overwhelmed with something she couldn’t name, knowing it was coming from Johnny as he stared blank faced at the older woman. This time, however, she felt the brunt of his silent rage and any shame she may have felt before was immediately replaced with fear again, fear of Johnny. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn't continue speaking, body gone still and rigid where he sits. Looking up at him once more, she knew she had to say something, anything, to try and make amends. She felt every excuse, every justification swelling in her mouth, fighting to get out into the open and yet she can’t bring herself to speak. Her normal fight is nowhere to be found, no witty remark or cutting insult ready to throw back at him for his tone, only panic making unfinished words spill unfiltered from her lips as she took him in, wishing he'd take his glasses off. Wishing he would just stand up and scream at her, yell, fucking slap her like he did when they first met, wishing for anything but the restrained fury that radiated off him in waves. </p><p> </p><p>She manages to open her mouth and croak out a faint reply. “Johnny, I...I’m sorry. I’m such an idiot, I don’t know what I was thinking.”</p><p> </p><p>He scoffs, slamming his opened palms down loudly on his leather covered knees and she has the audacity to flinch, briefly, but he does.</p><p><br/>
“You’re sorry? You take a fuckin’ BD from some gonk on the street and <em> trust him</em>, and you’re sorry now that he’s fucked you over?”</p><p><br/>
Her apology is what finally prompts him to rip the sunglasses off his face, and for the first time since she regained her consciousness, she can see his eyes. To call him furious would be the understatement of the century, anger making the lines in his face harsh and angular, the lighting in the room not helping. Standing to full height, he crosses the room in two strides and crouches down beside her, gripping her chin roughly in his hand and the room spins violently once again as he forces her head up to look at him, the metal of his hand cold and rough against her face.</p><p> </p><p>“What kind of <em>merc</em> trusts someone like that, V? Hmm?” He jostles her head slightly as he speaks, spitting in her face he’s so fucking irate with her. “Tell me, because if this is how you operate you may as well find a gun and do us both a fuckin’ favour by swallowing it, it’ll make this whole thing easier.” </p><p> </p><p>"<em>Johnny..."</em></p><p> </p><p>He holds her head steady in his fingers, warmed now by her skin and yet she's still freezing. This close, she can see more than fury in his face. She can see something else, something that looks an awful lot like fear flicker past his eyes, old and unspoken in his brown eyes. At this thought she can feel her cheeks heat again as he peers into her eyes for a second longer before dropping her face and turning away, that momentary look gone, leaving only disgust written in every line of his slim body. She isn’t sure what to say to him, no words forming on her tongue to try and placate him, to try and repair what she’d done.</p><p> </p><p>And so she says nothing, watching as he stalks back and forth for a moment before popping out of existence without a word, the blue haze that normally surrounds him lingering on the white tile for a second after him, before fading and she is left alone in the pale silence. Alone, so very fucking alone in the bathroom of a scav hideout, half naked and terrified and covered in someone else’s now tacky blood. A shudder wracks through her frame, followed by another, and she pulls her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them to try and stop the shaking that suddenly threatens to overcome her, to envelop her completely. A sob escapes her lips and tears, hot and salty, spill unwillingly from her eyes as she closes them and cries into her lap for the first time in god knows how long. </p><p> </p><p>She knows that she should stop being so pathetic, haul herself up, and find a way out of the room. Find her guns and take back what they stole from her and yet her body stays unmoving, unwilling to cooperate. The relic was growing worse with each passing day, sapping her of her energy, doubling her over as blood from her lungs spattered her palms more frequently. She felt bereft, a piece of her soul was missing if she was no longer able to force herself up and back into the thick of it and this thought only served to make her feel even worse. That, and the sharp stabbing in her heart when her brain reminded each time she shut her eyes about how angry Johnny was with her, the look of disgust on his face, and this makes her cry even harder. </p><p> </p><p>For a brief and blissful moment, while she sits and lets herself sob pathetically, she forgets to be afraid of what’s coming. Forgets to fear the scavs most likely sitting in the room outside, forgets to be terrified of what they plan to do to her. And it’s only then that she finally realizes where she is, and why the bathroom seemed familiar. Sitting, sobbing, on the bathroom floor of the scav haunt where she and Jackie saved a random stranger, a fucking corpo, Sandra Dorsett what felt like a lifetime ago. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Oh god, Jackie… </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The instant realization that she is desperately and entirely alone in the world, alone and covered in cool, tacky blood, fills her with despair like she’d never known. It is like reliving Jackie’s death all over again, only this time she’s slumped on a bathroom floor in a scav den and not in the back of a Delamain with Adam fucking Smasher and half of Arasaka on their asses and her best choom bleeding out beside her. She isn’t sure which is worse. The blood still on her hands suddenly feels hot again, hot and sticky and she’s got her palms pressed frantically to Jackie’s chest, trying to staunch the blood flow pouring out of the gaping hole in him as the light drains from his eyes and Delamain is swerving to avoid something or someone. </p><p> </p><p>She can smell his cologne, hear him laughing in the elevator up to Yorinobu’s suite. She can feel the weight of his heavy palms pressing into hers with no strength anymore as she tries to staunch the flow of blood coming from his chest, and she is sobbing harder now. The world beginning to spin violently under her feet, there is nothing she can do to catch her breath. If only they’d been faster, if only Dexter DeShawn had done his research properly, if only Arasaka’s goons hadn’t arrived when they did, maybe he’d still be here with her, maybe he’d be at home with Mama Welles, and not in a metal urn in the back of the Coyote. She is so full of guilt and stupidity it threatens to overcome her, unable to see or breathe as the vision at the edges of her eyes goes horribly dark.</p><p><br/>
A whispered plea wrenches itself from her lips, without thought or hesitation. “<em>Johnny…” </em> escapes her once, twice, as the room suddenly becomes too small, the walls closing in on her as she tries one final time to fucking just <em>breathe</em>, and fails spectacularly. Everything screaming at her to get up and run, to smash the walls and escape blends with her own anger at herself, her anger at being afraid of Johnny and her failing body and it is suddenly too much. She is trapped, horribly and irrevocably trapped and it’s then that the air leaves her lungs and she collapses unconscious, back onto the cold filthy floor. </p><p>He watches her unconscious figure breathe for a second, before sighing and disappearing once more.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>My first time writing anything for CP2077! Let me know what you think!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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